Bookends
by angelsdemonsducks
Summary: Not every story ends happily. Or: the one where Castiel can't remember, and Crowley can't forget.


_Time it was_

 _And what a time it was, it was_

 _A time of innocence_

 _A time of confidences_

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a demon and an angel, though their story wasn't much like a fairy tale. There was no poisoned apple, no True Love's Kiss, no journey away into an eternity of bliss.

Though, there was an apple, and that is, one might say, where it all Began.

If they were to have a fairy tale, though, it wouldn't begin there. And it wouldn't begin with the following millennia, in which there was fighting and thwarting and discorporating until finally, an Arrangement was reached and a truce was found. And it wouldn't begin with the following centuries either, in which truce became friendship, and friendship somehow, inexplicably became love.

No, it would begin here: several months after the Apocaletsnot, in the back room of a bookstore. The two of them are drunk, and having a grand time, still giddy at the fact that there is still a world to get drunk in, and alcohol to get drunk with. They're laughing about something, the demon can't quite remember what, when the angel stops suddenly and looks at him.

"Dear," he starts, blue eyes squinting, "you won't ever forget me, will you?"

The demon stops laughing too and stares. "No, of course not," he responds. "What brought this on?"

The angel shrugs and toys with his empty wineglass. It dutifully refills. "I dunno," he replies, frowning slightly. "I suppose I was just thinking. Everyone's forgotten about the Apocalypse, so I was just wondering…"

The demon, in a rare display of sappiness that he will later blame on the liquor, reaches across the table and takes one of the angel's hands in his own. "The Apocalypse is far less important than you," he says matter-of-factly, blushing right after the words leave his mouth. The angel chuckles, and he reddens further. _I am not pissed enough for this,_ he thinks, and tries to salvage the situation. "Besides," he says, waving a hand in the vague direction of outside, "they're all humans. What do they know about anything? We don't forget important things like they do."

The angel looks pleased when he is finished, and he holds up his glass. "To remembering, then," he proposes, and their glasses meet with a chime.

"To remembering," the demon agrees.

They spend the rest of the night getting completely sloshed.

* * *

The next day, when the demon wakes up, he is alone in the bed. It doesn't take long to conclude that the angel is gone.

It takes just a little longer to conclude that he isn't coming back.

And a little longer than that to find out where he went.

Heaven took him. Heaven took the angel where the demon can't follow, and all he wants to do now is cry and scream and rage at the utter unfairness of it all.

But he doesn't.

The demon schemes, and things begin to happen.

* * *

It's been a couple of long decades, but the demon knows the angel's grace when he feels it. He's in the middle of sealing a deal with a homophobic businessman and getting a real kick out of it too, but the sudden sparks running up and down his spine almost cause him to lose his focus. He puts himself on autopilot and stretches out his senses.

Yes. There he is. The angel is right. There.

The deal closes, and the businessman leaves in a hurry. The demon goes through the motions, walking away without a care in the world, all his attentions focused on the grace tailing him. Briefly, he reaches out with his own, just to see, and it's not what he finds that devastates him, but more what he doesn't find.

There is no recognition in that grace. None at all.

He wings back to his house pretty quickly after that, unable to stay there any longer. Dread pools in his stomach; if this is what he thinks it is, he's going to need to make a lot of new plans.

* * *

It's exactly what he thinks it is. The Winchester, Moose and Squirrel, along with their pet angel, bringing the Apocalypse down on his doorstep. Only, the angel isn't theirs, the angel is his, or it's supposed to be.

The lack of recognition hurts. Especially because his eyes are the same. The same brilliant, brilliant blue, the blue that was oceans and sky and secrets that the human mind can't comprehend. The blue that the demon associates with kindness and mercy and unconditional love.

 _Would the love be so unconditional if he were to see how far I've Fallen this time?_ he wonders, knowing at the same time that he wouldn't care if that were the case. He would take the angel's disapproval, his loathing, even his hatred. Anything but this horrible nothing.

So he helps. He helps them stop the Apocalypse, helps them as best he can, even though a few days ago he wouldn't have cared if the whole world burnt. Because the angel is back, he's alive, and as long as there's life, there's hope. He gives them some bogus reason as to his motives, something to do with self-preservation, silently telling the angel that he's doing it all for him, that he always has and he always will.

The angel doesn't hear him. He can't.

* * *

He makes a deal with the angel. It's not the best idea he's ever had, but not the worst either, and perhaps it will be enough. They're going to have to work together now, and as far as he can tell, it's a win-win scenario. The angel gets the power he needs to defeat Raphael, he gets some prime real-estate. There's no deal better than that.

Of course, that's not the real reason why he's doing it. He's doing it to save the angel, even if he doesn't know it. Every moment he spends in his company is bittersweet; he both revels in the fact that he is here and mourns the fact that the angel isn't reveling with him.

This angel, the angel that he has been made into, loathes him. That much is clear to see. But the demon can bear it, because once the angel remembers, he will understand, and everything will be alright again.

Because the angel will remember. Of course he will.

* * *

In the end, the demon betrays the angel, though not for the reasons everyone thinks.

Too much time has passed, and the angel hasn't remembered a single thing. If this goes on, he really will manage to open Purgatory, and who knows what will happen then? No, it's simply too risky. The demon refuses to lose the angel again, even though he doesn't truly have him back.

He will have him back. Someday.

But then he doesn't, because the angel does something incredibly stupid, and the angel is dead.

And the world crashes down around the demon for a second time, only, this time, he doesn't think that anything will be able to put it back together.

* * *

The demon supposes that he should be happy.

After all, the angel is back now. It only took amnesia and insanity and Purgatory, but the angel is back now, back for good. And now he has another chance. But Naomi is sticking her fingers into everything, he can tell, and there's something else too, something that he's seen before but didn't want to think about. It's obvious now, though, so obvious that ignorance doesn't help.

The angel is in love with Dean Winchester.

It's obvious in the constant staring, in the way he'll do anything for his precious hunter. And maybe Winchester doesn't know it yet, but it's only a matter of time.

A matter of time, and the angel truly will be lost forever. Because the demon knows that if the angel and the hunter fall in love, he won't stop them. The angel deserves happiness, even if it's not with him, and isn't that a horribly sentimental thought? It's the truth, though, even if the realization does send him spiraling into a dark, black hole where there are tablets and power mongering and blood and death and _hecan'tstophimselfanymore_.

Because he could only ever stop himself if the angel was there. And now, the angel's not.

* * *

The human blood boils in his veins, and he wants to scream. The ritual is meant for demons, not Fallen Angels, and he wants to tell Moose to stop, stop now, before it's too late, this won't do anything, only God can purify a Fallen Angel, you'll fail, and we'll both be deaddeaddeaddeaddead-

He sobs, and words fall out of his mouth, words that he could never allow himself to say if it weren't for the circumstances. It's true, though, possibly the truest thing he's said in years. He wants to be loved, wants it so badly, though he manages to stop himself before he reveals the next part.

 _Again,_ he wants to say. _I want to be loved again. I want him back, please, I just want him back, is that too much to ask?_

 _I want my angel._

But, he reflects, as the ritual is stopped and angels fall from the sky, this is a dream that will never become reality. The angel hasn't remembered yet. He likely never will. And the blue-eyed gaze that is ocean and sky and secrets and everything a demon isn't allowed to feel, the blue-eyed gaze that used to belong to him and him alone, now belongs to Dean Winchester.

The demon has lost.

* * *

The world carries on, and the demon does too. Abbadon is dealt with, and the angels return to Heaven, and he finds himself alone again.

He's tried so hard, he really has.

He doesn't know how much more he has left in him.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a demon and an angel, though their story wasn't much like a fairy tale. There was no poisoned apple, no True Love's Kiss, no journey away into an eternity of bliss.

For them, there was no eternity at all.

The demon lost his angel to Heaven, and he lost himself to Hell, and neither of them found their way again. It is unlikely that they ever will.

No, they had no fairy tale. But if they did, it would end with this: the demon is alone on his throne. The burden of power is a heavy burden indeed. He sighs heavily, staring at everything and nothing at all.

Then, for the first time in years, the demon allows himself to break. He screams, and it is the sound of an ending, a finale, a denouement.

In response, a tear slips down the angel's face. It is wiped away, frowned at, and forgotten, just like everything else, and the angel carries on.

The demon screams again, and the angel almost hears.

* * *

 _Long ago it must be_

 _I have a photograph_

 _Preserve your memories_

 _They're all that's left you_

 _-Bookends, Paul Simon_

* * *

 **A/N: I've always been interested in the Castiel is Aziraphale idea. Add that to my tendency to write GO! and SPN!Crowley as the same person, and, well… this is the result. Hope you enjoyed the angst.**


End file.
